Anywhere But Here
by Queen Amazing
Summary: He was the mysterious boy with a troubled past. She was the girl who refused to talk, holding herself back from fulfilling the dreams she was bound to turn into reality. Together, colliding their lives into one might just destroy the meaning of 'fate'. FANFIC ORIGINALLY POSTED IN MCL (unicornx)


**A/N** I used to loooove writing fanfics for this site (specifically the Gakuen Alice fandom) and it's been quite a while since I've last posted on here so I figured, why not?  
This is a fanfiction I posted on MCL under the sn: **unicornx**. I've recently just deleted it from there so if you see this work floating around anywhere else, please contact me asap. Gracias!

___And we almost, we almost knew what love was._

But almost is never enough.

**_ ❞  
_**_- Ariana Grande - Almost is Never Enough -  
._ _._ _._

* * *

_. . ._

As the only daughter of a ever-so-determined-to-save-the-world-one-patient-at-the-time psychologist, Violette became accustomed to following her devoted and well-adjusted mother to work, where she gradually fell head over heels in love with the idea of giving a helping hand to those in need. Just like her beloved mother, whom she pose a striking resemblance to, Violette was always on-the-go when it came to the emotional and mental needs of the troubled young patients. One of the many reasons why she willingly traveled all the way from home to the full-on crowded premises of her mother's clinic center, was just so she could interact with the youngest of patients; those from her age group. The little chicks. She knew, even at the tender age of nine, that there was little to no common characteristics that these children shared with her. Some were difficult to approach, let alone talk to without pushing any wrong buttons. Others would often ignore her attempts, refusing to acknowledge her presence and often causing a scene until one of the nurses had to step in and with a sad expression, regrettably had Violette leave, much to her dismay. "Their minds aren't developing as fast as yours do, sweetie. They mean no harm. Signs of symptoms vary and rarely ever show in children, but it's not impossible," her mother had once explained, reassuring Violette that it absolutely had nothing to do with her and the fact that she would go to such lengths _just_ to give up some time to the unfortunate, was remarkable enough. But that didn't stop her from trying even harder. From the very beginning, driven by love and compassion, Violette had always been an overachiever. Which surely had not gone unnoticed by those of her surroundings; she was in fact, an open-book.

Throughout the years of accompanying her mother to work up until she started junior high (middle school), Violette met and lost many children she befriended while caring for them as much as she could. Eventually, despite frequently facing a ton of problems regarding a patient having psychotic episodes, Violette managed to find herself a spot in their hearts and learning to make unbreakable bonds with them. Overall, she was doing splendidly for someone who only wanted to play and cheer up the patients (sometimes even the elderlies) and never had she ever met anyone as challenging as the boy who left the most footprints in her fragile heart. Four years ago, already famous around the clinic, Violette encountered a patient of her mother's before the psychologist herself could. It was during a Monday afternoon and Violette had gotten a ride back to the clinic from school with a friend who wanted to see the building outside. She remembered being in such a great mood, excitedly running down the corridors while humming a cheery tone all the way to the halls until she reached her mother's office. That day, a marvelous artwork of hers was acknowledged by the principal and asked for her permission to turn it into the school's mural. She was dying of happiness and she just _couldn't_ wait to tell her mother of the amazing news.

"Mom! Mom! Mom, I'm back and I have great news-" Her words died from her throat the moment her purple-eyed gaze dropped to an unfamiliar boy seated in her mother's chair rather than the no-where-to-be-found woman herself. Swallowing her thoughts, Violette stood awkwardly by the door ajar, staring wide-eyed at the stranger.

". . . ."

". . . ."

". . . . You're not my mom," she finally said, after two minutes of prolonged silence. Feeling those intense eyes borrowing a hole through her forehead, Violette glanced away instinctively and shifted uncomfortably on her position. Those incredible lime-lemon eyes of his were hypnotizing. She couldn't help but be drawn by them, and she would've never thought that in a few years, those pair of eyes were the reason why she woke up in the middle of the night, screaming. ". . . ." The boy didn't say anything, only stared, and that alone broke Violette's anxiety scale. She honestly didn't know what to do. Should she have had left and pretend nothing ever happened? No. Running away would've solved nothing.

It didn't appear as though he was interested in talking to her, quickly averting his gaze when she suddenly spoke to him in a manner that would've been appropriate if they were friends. Rather than voicing out his thoughts, he kept his mouth shut and merely huffed. His indifference to her presence and unwillingness to even speak to her would've been an obvious message to leave him alone, but naive little Violette didn't see it that way. In fact, she believed it was a subtle cry for help.

"Do you know where she is, maybe?" she pressed on, taking a step further into the room until she was standing in front of him. "I'm Violette, her daughter. Are you a new patient of hers?"

"Um-"

He heaved a long and exasperated sigh, but made no move to protest. "No, I don't," he said simply, still avoiding her gaze.

"Oh. . ." she trailed off, awkwardly scratching at the back of her head. "Okay."

"So um, uh, excuse me? Um. How old are you?"

Suddenly embarrassed by her own boldness, Violette immediately lowered her head until it nearly touched her chest. She felt a warm, tingling sensation on the side of her cheek, until the burning heat covered her entire face. It was really, _really_ weird talking to this boy, even if he was just another one of her mother's troubled patients. But she knew from the very moment she entered the room, finding him inside rather than her mother - a boy, whom at first sight put her on edge - was definitely someone different from all the patients and children she met on a regular day basis. However, what she didn't know at that time, was that their meeting, would forever change her life.

". . . I'm thirteen."

"Oh. I'm eleven."

Rather than shooing her away this time, he lazily gave her a curt nod of confirmation, seemingly accepting the fact that she wouldn't be going away any time soon. ". . . ." And yet, he remained quiet. A broad smile crawled its way over to his lips, as though feeling nostalgic over a lost memory suddenly brought back to mind, and he felt oddly lightheaded. But as quickly as the look came, it disappeared.

"O-Oh. Um." Her purple-eyed gaze wandered all around her in frantic motion, everything except his piercing eyes. She fidgeted slightly, toying with a foot merely inches away from her mother's messy desk full of paperwork and dust. "W-What's your name?" she croaked out, clearing her throat a second too late. "I-I mean. . . What's your name?"

Then, almost instantaneously, as if he had just heard a shocking news, the mysterious boy glanced up to finally meet her gaze. And boy did they made goosebumps run up and down her fragile spine. Although looking slightly troubled, he bit back an irritated hiss. Then he spoke in a very alluring low voice - so low that it made Violette wonder whether he reached puberty at a surprisingly early age. "I'm Lysander." He turned away immediately, almost as if regretting telling her his name. Like it was some kind of a top secret thing. No matter how hard he tried suppressing the overwhelming sensation coursing through his body, he didn't fully have the strength to control his 'urges'. His stupid brain always thought it just "didn't feel right" not to perform certain tasks he obviously didn't want to do. Oh dear, those terrible urges. Gritting his teeth, the troubled boy curled his hands into tight fists until his knuckles turned white.

It was none of her business.

He wasn't obligated to tell her his problems.

_But it just didn't feel right not to tell her, especially since she asked._

He struggled to keep his emotions at bay.

He fought so hard and then failed miserably.

"I have-"

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**Next Update:** Wednesday (PST)


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